


A puzzled love of the light

by ottertrashpalace



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Fluff, Homophobia, Hurt/Comfort, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Past Abuse, Pride Parade, Use of the f slur, Westboro Baptist Church is its own warning, and molly is still a tiefling because i'm attached to his purpleness, burlesque dancer!molly, but like generalized religious fanatacism, but they still have powers!, caleb's backstory
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-03
Updated: 2018-07-01
Packaged: 2019-05-17 14:03:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14833658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ottertrashpalace/pseuds/ottertrashpalace
Summary: Molly, possibly the most flamboyant queer individual ever to exist, wound up saving the life of a homophobic Christian picketer. It's not the weirdest thing that's ever happened to him, but suffice to say that it has long-ranging consequences he did not expect.





	1. one

**Author's Note:**

> There is some strong language in this and a lot of prejudice--imagine Caleb's canon backstory, but with more quasi-religious anti-gay fuckery. So that. Please be careful.

LA Pride is one hell of an event. There’s a little of everything—well, mostly one thing, but variety nonetheless, within those limits. That’s what Molly loved about it. You’ve got dykes on bikes, firefighters in lingerie, tons of buttons that he definitely intended on adding to his jacket, and the ubiquitous drunk twinks. He felt right at home.

It had been Jester’s idea to get the Ruby of the Sea a pride float. Her logic was thus: it was a queer establishment run by queers for queers and she would pay good money to see Beau in makeup. Impenetrable. This was how Molly wound up actually riding in the parade, something he’d never done, at least not with any kind of official sanction. He'd picked out his favorite crop top and leather pants, and had spent the past hour lazily throwing mardi gras beads out of the back of Fjord’s beleaguered F-150 (say what you will about Fjord, but damn it the man picked his brand and stuck to it).

Of course, no Pride would be complete without the smattering of religious fanatics screaming about Hell and abominations and other things Molly presumed he was supposed to be afraid of.

“If a homophobe so much as breathes on Shelby I will sue their asses into the sweet Texan dirt.” Fjord grumbled as they drew closer to the picket line, which had formed at a corner that the parade wound around at its lazy pace. The something-or-other horse therapy nonprofit that was cowboying it up in front of them took the opportunity to pause and do a little show.

“Don’t worry, I’m pretty sure Marian put out for dickwad insurance.” Beau drawled, leaning forward over the top of the cab. She was trying to look relaxed, but Molly didn’t miss the tension collecting in her shoulders. Her punching bag was going to get a beating when she got home. In the meantime, Yasha rubbed her back silently, sipping her beer.

“Eh, they’re pretty harmless from here, right?” Jester butted in, jovial as ever. “Look, that one’s kinda cute!”

Molly followed Jester’s well-manicured claw to the protester she was pointing at, a younger guy with messy red hair and a sort of blank look on his face. He was pretty handsome—had that bookish, absent-minded professor thing going for him—but the _God hates fags_ sign that was bobbing above his head was kinda hard to miss.

“Another repressed zealot, what a shock.” Molly replied, finally. “None of our business.” He took a swig out of his hip flask and passed it to Jester, who sniffed at it and wrinkled her nose.

“Is this strawberry vodka?”

“You bet your sweet blue ass.”

“Molly, I’m still not convinced you have taste buds.” Beau called over her shoulder.

Molly shrugged, unable to honestly disagree. “Not like I could remember it ever being diff—oh my GOD!”

One of the horses from the group in front of was bucking, its rider prone on the ground, and it was charging off to the left, right into the crowd. And the picketers.

Molly vaulted off the back of the truck, with Fjord right behind him after setting the parking break. The spooked horse had galloped full speed towards the barricades, and with a single terrifying leap, made it over and into the crowd.

“Move away, everyone, move it!” Molly heard himself shout. “Any sudden movement or screaming is just going to make this worse.”

Fjord was trying to circle around to get in front of the horse, and Molly did his best to herd the crowd out of the way. In the months he’d spent with the circus, this had happened all of once, but that night had not ended prettily. He glanced over his shoulder to check on Fjord, and several things happened at once.

First, the horse went still—too still. Molly could see the whites of its eyes. Second, he saw that where most of the protesters had scattered, there was one lone figure, frozen, standing before the horse—the redhead from earlier. He had this look like a poke to the arm would shatter him into a million terrified pieces. Third, the horse saw the redhead. It charged.

Without thinking, Molly shoved his way through the crowd and sprinted towards the redhead, tackling him out of the path of oncoming hooves.  _God hates fags_  tumbled to the ground. Then, a blinding pain in the side of body, and everything was black.

 

...

 

He woke up in a hospital bed, which was too familiar. Fortunately, after a few moments of absolute terror, his eyes focused on Yasha’s concerned face, and he could remember everything. He blinked. Thank God. He felt Yasha’s rough lips brush the side of his head, and then she was gone, saying something about a nurse. Jester replaced her, taking Molly’s hand and talking to him. He hoped it wasn’t important, because he couldn’t process any of it. Why were they all so blurry?

A few minutes later, things started to clear up, and he could hear a nice-looking gnome lady in a white lab coat telling him that he had a minor concussion and some severe laceration to his right arm and shoulder but with a week’s rest he’d be all right, given he didn’t rip the stitches. 

“Also,” she said over her shoulder as she started to walk out. “There’s a young gentleman in the waiting room who wants to see you. I get the feeling that things are a little complicated on that front, so I’ll let your friends explain, but, yeah, let me know if you want that.”

With that, she left, and Beau, Yasha, Jester, and Fjord, in their usual piecemeal fashion, started to fill Molly in.

“It was very brave of you, Mollymauk,” Jester said, her accent making his name trip on her tongue. It always sounded so playful when she said it.

“I mean, Fjord calmed the horse down pretty quickly after you jumped.” Beau added.

Fjord shook his head. “I only wish I’d gotten there sooner. I’m sorry.”

Molly just rolled his eyes. “It’s not your fault, you enormous dunce. I realized way too late that I can’t cast Suggestion on a fucking horse.” He got laughs out of that, and things started to feel normal again. “Anyway, what’s this guy that the doctor was talking about?”

At that, the mood dropped noticeably, and Molly’s mind went eight wild directions at once.

“It’s the guy that you saved,” Yasha said, finally. “The Westboro Baptist one. With the red hair.”

Molly had not expected that.

“I went down there, ready go make him fuck off, but he was just all quiet.” Fjord said.

Beau’s eyes narrowed. “Too quiet, if you ask me.”

“How long has he been down there?” Molly asked quietly.

Jester hummed and counted on her fingers. “Maybe four hours?”

“I think I wanna talk to him.” Molly decided. Whoa, okay, since when did he talk to ride or die not-Adam-and-Steve religious fanatics? He tried to shake off the impulse, but something—the same something that made him choose a card from a deck—wanted it to happen. What kind of two bit psychic would he be if he didn’t trust that part of himself? So when all four of his friends stared at him in open disbelief, he waved them off. “What harm can it do? Maybe I’ll change a mind.”

“Molly—“ Yasha started, but he cut her off. “You can wait outside the door if it’ll make you feel better.” He gave her a look that said trust me on this. She stared him down for a second, but then just nodded. That was one of the things he loved about Yasha—she was so strong, always, but she knew when to let him fight his own battles.

“Get the doctor, if you would please, and tell her to let him up.” Molly said gently. Yasha nodded again and ushered the noticeably reticent others out the door.

Alone, Molly lifted his left hand carefully—he must be on the good stuff, because his right wasn’t bothering him, but he did not particularly want to test that—and lifted it up to his head, checking his horns. Blessedly, they’d left his horn jewelry in. He always felt strange without it. His hair was a knotted mess, but the dull ache at the base of his skull told him that he really did not want to try and deal with that now. No, Molly just looked like he always did—an unsubtle tiefling, slightly crazy and incredibly flamboyant, with hair down to his waist, a penchant for the occult, and precious little shame. If there was any one thing that this man would hate most in the world, it would probably look a lot like Molly.

Soon enough, the doctor opened the door to his room an in came the redhead in question. He looked a little different than Molly remembered—slightly dirtier, for one, with very shabby clothes and enormous bags under his eyes. He walked with a hunch, which Molly reasoned might be because he was on the tall side, but something told him that there was more to it than that.

“I, ah, came to say thank you,” the man said after a few beats of awkward silence. It took Molly a second to place his accent—German. Interesting.

“You’re welcome,” Molly replied, for lack of something better to say. “I’d tell you that it was my pleasure, but that wouldn’t be entirely truthful. Though whatever drugs they’re giving me right now are almost worth the intermediary steps.” He thought he saw the slightest upward twitch of the redhead’s mouth, but maybe he was imagining things.

“Well, it’s not every day that someone like you saves someone like me.”

Molly kept his easy smile plastered on his face, but his skin felt like stone all of the sudden. He didn’t even want to begin unpacking what the hell that was supposed to mean. “It’s not every day that there’s horses parading down the streets of Los Angeles, so I guess we got lucky, Mr….?”

“Caleb,” the man responded after a moment. “Caleb Widogast.”

“Caleb,” Molly parroted, trying it out. A good Christian name. “Oh, how rude of me, I didn’t introduce myself. My name is Mollymauk Tealeaf.”

He held out his hand, and whatever wince or upturned nose he’d been expecting didn’t come. Caleb took his outstretched hand, if hesitantly, and shook it. “Pleased to meet you, Mollymauk. I owe you one.”

Molly noticed upon shaking hands with him that Caleb had not once looked him in the eye.

“Darling, if I kept track of everything that I owe people and they owe me, I would be broke on the street,” he joked reflexively, noting only when he finished talking that his habit of using pet names was particularly inappropriate in this situation. Still, Caleb didn’t seem to react to it. Actually, Caleb hadn’t much reacted to anything—he hadn’t stared at Molly, or said anything insensitive, and seemed very intent in looking at a particular patch of carpet by the foot of Molly’s bed.

“I, ah, should really be going.” Caleb said abruptly.

“All right,” Molly blinked, taken aback. “Swing by the Ruby of the Sea if you get a chance, I do tarot readings during the day.” He winced after saying that. The last thing Marian needed was a line of assholes parading their intolerance outside her burlesque. Still, though, that little something inside him seemed to think there was more to Caleb than met the eye.

Caleb said nothing, only ducked his head a little and walked out. Molly stared at the blank wall in front of him, resigning himself to the fact that he would never know exactly what just happened.

 

...

 

Close to a year later, Molly had more or less forgotten about the whole thing. The gash on his shoulder had healed into a pearly lavender scar, and he wasn't the type to dwell on the past. Nonetheless, he was leaving the Ruby particularly late one night when he saw something out of the corner of his eye that was really familiar for some reason—a flash of ginger hair, and a filthy brown coat.

“Caleb?” He said, and immediately felt silly—what were the chances that some poor redheaded homeless guy he randomly ran into was Westboro Baptist Church Caleb, of all people?

“Ja,” the man replied, and Molly almost jumped out his skin. Chance, as usual, had made a fool of him. Caleb was sitting up against the facade of the Ruby, and now that Molly was getting a good look at him, he looked even worse than he had the day they’d first met. He was caked in dirt, exhausted, sallow—the way he leaned on the wall behind him made it seem like he didn’t have the strength to get up.

“What on earth are you doing here?” Molly stammered out.

“I just—I found the address, you told me you worked here, I— sorry, I shouldn’t have come—“

And against all odds, he started to pick himself up, bracing himself heavily on the wall, and wavered a little too much for Molly’s liking. Nothing was quite right here, and he suddenly was determined to get to the bottom of it.

“No no, none of that, now. I did give you the name of the place.” Caleb sagged back down a little, and Molly crouched in front of him. “Just—again, why on Earth—? What happened to you?”

“I know you saw me first with those _people_ ,” Caleb began, and the way he spat that word out took Molly’s estimation of the whole situation on a tight hairpin turn. “I could not stand it, being with them, afterwards. It was a long time coming, I think, but it took me…too long to leave. I was hoping that there was some work, here. I have a good memory, I am good with books and ledgers, and I have simple spells— I can do anything, really, I’ll keep my mouth shut, I’ll keep out of sight, whatever you need.” And that was the voice of a desperate man. It didn’t take much extrapolation to realize that Caleb had been sleeping rough for quite some time now.

Molly made a few quick decisions in that instant. He fished his keys out of his pocket and turned back towards the building he had just walked out of, unlocking one of the front doors.

“Caleb, dear, please listen closely. I can’t offer you a job here, since I’m not really the boss, but I can offer you a hot meal and a sympathetic ear tonight. And a tarot reading, I suppose, if you want. That’s about the extent of my skill set. I’ll talk to my boss in the morning, but for now—can you stand?”

Caleb was just staring at Molly, a little to the left of his eyes, uncomprehending.

“Take it or leave it, darling.” Molly prompted.

“I… you are joking, no?” Caleb said flatly.

“Not in the slightest.” Molly replied, feeling his heart break a little.

“...I already owe you.”

At that, Molly’s heart broke the rest of the way. You don’t owe me a damn thing, he wanted to say, but he had a feeling Caleb wouldn’t believe that. “I told you, I don’t subscribe to that way of thinking.” Caleb looked unconvinced. “Well, how about this— I take you inside, you tell me how you got here, and we’ll call it even.”

He offered his hand to Caleb, feeling a strange sense of deja-vuto that handshake in the hospital room. Caleb took it this time too, and it didn’t take nearly enough strength to pull the other man off the ground. He was skin and bones. Molly kept a grip on his arm, because he wasn’t doing a great job of standing up on his own, and gradually led him inside, into the staff room, where he deposited Caleb on a couch. He cursed his friends for buying nothing but cup noodles and started rummaging through the cabinets. He did eventually find bread and butter and started to make toast, and boiled some water for tea, but when he turned around to check on his charge he saw that Caleb had conked out. He was still sitting up, his neck cricked at an uncomfortable angle.

“Oh, sweet thing,” Molly chuckled. He dug out a throw blanket—one of Jester’s old knitting projects, easily identifiable by the glittery yarn and the unicorn charms affixed at random intervals—and tucked Caleb in carefully. The guy really was out cold. He considered trying to move him so he was lying down, but thought it might wake him up. He poured himself a mug of strong black tea and plucked his cards from the drawer where he kept them, shuffling them absentmindedly as he sat down at the table closest to the sleeping Caleb. Deftly, he pulled three cards, and stared with considerable chagrin at the spread before him.

First, the fool, which he seemed to gravitate towards generally in either of its orientations. Tonight it was reversed, and Molly scowled at it. Risk-taking.  _He was a risk, I know that._

Second, the wheel of fortune, upright. Destiny.

Third, death, upright. Transformation, beginnings. Or endings. Or both.

Molly glared at the cards for a while, lost in thought. He was shaken out of it when Caleb’s breathing started to get sharper and quicker, and before he could do anything, quieted abruptly, albeit still coming a little shakily. He turned and saw Caleb’s eyes blinking open, his knees drawing up in front of him. His eyes darted around uncertainly, and Molly let him figure out where he was before saying anything.

“Tea?” He asked eventually. Caleb made no response, and Molly shifted towards the kettle. “I’m afraid all we have in here is PG Tips and chai, any preference?”

Again, Caleb was silent.

“I’m going to guess chai.” Molly decided, and poured a full mug of it, careful to keep his hands where Caleb could see them. He put some honey in it, too, and held it out to Caleb, who took it after a moment’s hesitation and held it close to his chest, breathing in the steam.

Molly started to make toast. “I recall,” he began after a beat, “that I let you in here on the condition you told me a story. Yours, preferably, but any will do. Think you're up to that?”

Caleb bit his lip—they were very nice lips, Molly noticed, before he could stop himself. Damn it.

“Ja,” he managed, his voice creaky with sleep. “I, um, it’s a bit of a long one.”

“We’ve got all night.” Molly said with a magnanimous grin, spreading his arms wide.

So Caleb took a deep breath, and began. “My parents were very religious. They sent me off to boarding school at a young age, a Christian one. I was small and quiet, and I did not have many friends. I mostly talked to one of the pastors... Father Ikithon. He was not a nice man, but back then I was foolish and thought the whole world revolved around him. He had a few favorite students.”

Molly winced at that. “So how did you end up in the States?”

“After I graduated, he told me that he had friends in America. Friends that were doing the Lord’s work, as he would put it. And I believed him. I had good potential back then, and my parents were very proud, you know— I was going to go to the Academy and become a transmutation wizard. But I believed him, and I believed in what he preached. So I came.”

“You’re a wizard, then?” Molly asked curiously. He knew some cantrips himself, but had relatively limited arcane talents.

“I know a few things.” Caleb said. He muttered something and waved his hand, and several globes of light appeared above him, floating to fill the dim space.

“They’re beautiful,” Molly breathed, watching them pass overhead. “Well, if you’re looking for work, I’m sure Marian could find use for that sort of thing. You said you work with books, as well?”

And damn if Caleb’s face didn’t light up like one of his glowing spheres. “Yes, very much so.”

“Goodness, darling, you make it sound like you really ought to be job hunting at a library, not a burlesque.”

And Caleb blushed at that. Molly was immediately struck by a burning desire to make him blush more often. “Sorry... burlesque? I do not know this word.”

“Oh,” Molly found himself scrambling for the right words. It hadn’t occurred to him that Caleb hadn’t figured out exactly what kind of establishment this was. There were signed posters of mostly-naked drag queens studding the lobby. Maybe he’d just missed them. “Well, ah, it’s basically a classier version of a strip show. Or it pretends it’s classier. And the lady who runs it is very nice, all above board and everything.”

Caleb blinked twice and seemed to process this information. “I see.”

“Yeah.”

There was a very awkward silence.

“There are other options,” Molly offered. “Jester could always use another hand in her bakery, it’s right across the street.”

“I am a very bad cook.” Caleb said slowly.

“Ah. Shame. Well... I don’t want to drag you into something you’re not comfortable with. I have friends I could talk to—“

“Do you perform?” Molly stared at Caleb, who winced and went a deeper shade of red. “I am sorry, I shouldn’t pry—“

“I do.”Molly paused and waited for the other shoe to drop. None did. “You’re not prying, dear, it’s only natural to be curious. After all, you did just tell me your life story. Figure you're entitled to a few questions.”

“And you ... enjoy it?” _You choose to do it? You want to do it?_ Were the unspoken insinuations.

“I do,” Molly said again. “It’s not my absolute first choice, but it pays the bills, and it’s fun. And I work with great people.”

“I do not know how to say this politely,” Caleb began, “but I have been told my entire life that people like you are the devil incarnate.” At that Molly smirked and traced his horns with the tip of his fingers. Here it came. “It is very difficult to reconcile that with how kind you have been to me, having every reason to act otherwise.”

Molly softened. “Caleb, this is basic stuff. Anyone would have done what I have.”

“No,” Caleb replied, with a surprising sharpness to his voice. “No, they most certainly would not have. I can all but hear them, warning me that you are Satan tempting me to sin.”

Molly sighed. “If sin to them is hair dye and free love, I want nothing to do with those people. Never have, never will. I won't pretend that this will be easy for you, love, far from it. But that's what I'm like and that's what the other people who work here are like. It's up to you to decide whether you want that or not.”

Caleb looked up, and Molly could see his eyes for the first time. They were a piercing blue. “It took everything I had to leave that place, Mollymauk, and I do not want to go back. This will be... new, for me, but I want to try it. I need to learn that there are good people in the world.”

Molly appraised him for a moment. His eyes, still averted, were shining with unshed tears. “Well then, welcome to the dark side, Caleb Widogast.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Edit I just listened to panic’s new album and yk that line “You looked at death in a tarot card and you knew what you had to do” yeah holy shitballs that’s relevant to this story like I almost want to change the title


	2. two

It was soon apparent that Caleb was only a few blinks away from falling into coma-like sleep, so Molly gently took his empty cup and set to cleaning up.

“I had a thought, Caleb,” he said conversationally as he dried their mugs. “You’re welcome to stay here—God knows it’s not the first time someone’s crashed on that couch, and the doors lock from the inside—but there’s a couch bed in my apartment that is a little more comfortable.” He was offering Caleb an out, but Molly could hardly stand the idea of leaving him alone that night. He looked so tired, and lonely, and scared, and Molly couldn’t help but think how desperately he needed Yasha’s steady presence those first few weeks after he’d come back from the hospital. He’d had no memories, whereas it seemed that Caleb had too many, but either way, he couldn’t bring himself to leave Caleb to his own devices.

“Please, darling.” Molly tried once more, when Caleb failed to respond. “You look like you’re going to pass out. Besides, I have a shower you could use.”

“You have done too much already, Mollymauk. I do not deserve your sympathy.”

“I’ll be the judge of that, dear, if you don’t mind. And call me Molly.”

“I… alright.” Caleb said in the smallest voice. “If it is not too much trouble.”

“Never, I love having guests.” Molly tossed back with a smile, opening his phone to order a taxi.

They arrived at Molly’s apartment building without fanfare, and he’d never been more glad that he only lived on the second floor of it. He tried to avoid touching Caleb, who had flinched something awful when their knees had brushed in the cab, but when the poor man nearly collapsed after a flight of stairs, Molly reflexively grabbed his shoulders and steadied him. “Whoa, there. Let’s take this slow, yes? One step at a time. You can lean on my arm.”

And Caleb did, on and off, as they made their way to Molly’s door. The physical contact still seemed to put him off, so Molly tried to keep it to a minimum. He set Caleb down in the armchair and started to take out the pullout couch, which he hadn’t really used recently and gave him a little bit of trouble. A particularly loud curse slipped out of him when he dropped it on his toe, and he heard a sudden jerk from behind him. Caleb, who had been watching the process closely, was sitting stiff and upright, his eyes wide and downcast, one arm wrapped protectively across his torso with the nails digging into his bicep. Slower than he would have liked, Molly began to piece things together. A lonely, quiet boy whose only confidante was an older teacher at boarding school—a teacher who was in an idealogical league with the Westboro Baptist Church, and was “not a good man,” or rather, abusive. An adult Caleb who was suspicious of favors and kindness and jumped at the sound of a man cursing loudly.

“Caleb, I have another thought. My bedroom is just down the hall, and the door locks from the inside. So does the bathroom. You go ahead and sleep there. I’ll be up for a while anyway, I … uh, have work to get done.”

It was a thin lie and Molly was almost certain that Caleb saw right through it, but the other man just blinked and muttered a guttural “danke.” Molly barely had time to say “bitte” before Caleb was gone and he heard his bedroom door shut and lock with a click. Damn. He should have caught that earlier. He hoped he hadn’t made things worse by blundering around. Prejudice and internalized homophobia were one thing, but combined with trauma… that sucked. He was making assumptions, but he’d rather assume the worst and make sure Caleb was comfortable than try to get the information out of Caleb when he didn’t want to give it.

The couch bed was so lumpy Molly was immediately glad he hadn’t given it to his guest. Nonetheless, he managed to sleep until the sun came through his window (west-facing apartments are always a mistake) and he resigned himself to being awake. He boiled water for tea and curled up in the armchair by the window with a cup of smoky green and his current reading, which was a dusty old tome Jester had dug out of a used book shop about Mongolian shamanism. He heard the door to his room click open maybe two hours later, at which point he started to think about getting up and making breakfast. Halfway to the fridge, though, he noticed a fluffy tail slipping around a corner. When he went to investigate, he realized that it was a longhair orange cat, slightly beleaguered but still incredibly cute.

“C’mere, sweetheart, what are you doing here?” He cooed, to which the cat responded with an agreeable _mrrp_ as it butted its head into his outstretched hand. Molly scratched behind its ears obligingly, and it slunk between his legs and back around again. He was so distracted by the cat that he hardly noticed Caleb’s soft footsteps padding up behind him.

“Frumpkin! What did I say about bothering the nice man?” Caleb chastised the cat.

“Morning to you too,” Molly said with a smile. “Sleep well?”

Caleb nodded. “Sorry about him,” he muttered, turning to Molly as he gathered the cat in his arms.

“No worries. Is he yours? I don’t remember seeing him last night.”

“He is my familiar.” Caleb explained. “I can make him go away if he was bothering you.”

“Don't you dare, he’s welcome anytime. I love cats.”

“Seems like he has taken to you as well,” Caleb said, watching Frumpkin rub gently against Molly’s legs. He didn’t miss the way that the tension in Caleb’s shoulders leaked way a little.

“Do you come across many cat haters?” Molly asked.

“Ah, sort of. I think he was a little too… witchy… for the people I used to be with.”

Molly had to laugh a little at that. “Why then, he’ll fit right in here, won’t you?” He gently lifted the cat up and set him on his shoulders, where Frumpkin very happily settled, claws and all. “Let’s see, where was I? Breakfast. Are eggs and cheese good with you?”

Caleb blinked owlishly. “Ja, of course.”

So Molly set about cooking, humming to himself absentmindedly as he did. Did he still have canned tuna? He did, and he cracked it open for Frumpkin.

“Does your Fey kitty need to eat?” He asked Caleb.

“Well… no, but I still feed him, sometimes.”

Molly nodded seriously. “Good man.” He set the tuna on the ground, where Frumpkin went to town on it. He dumped the finished eggs onto a plate and grabbed the toast where it had popped out. “Here we are, eggs á là Molly. I’m putting Sriracha on mine if you want some.”

Caleb shook his head and tucked in. Molly had half been expecting a protest out of him, but he was clearly vey hungry. He almost regretted not giving in and making cup ramen the previous night.

“So,” he began, after they’d both slowed down a little, “I can take you to talk to Marian, today, if you’d like to. She’s my boss, and she runs the whole show. I don’t doubt she’ll have a couple positions open if you’re interested in them. I’m happy to take you back.”

“You don’t have to…” Caleb began, trailing off.

“I know I don’t, who said anything about having to? I want to.” Molly insisted. “You’ve done an incredibly brave thing, darling, and I think by all rights you’d be a wonderful addition to our little establishment.”

“You don’t know what I’ve done,” Caleb said through gritted teeth, with an intensity that caught Molly off guard. He chose his next words very carefully.

“What you have or haven’t done doesn’t make a difference when it comes to what you want to do,” he said, finally. No reply. “I spend my days charging people to give them tarot readings, and usually, it’s not the cards I’m reading, it’s them. I’ve always had a good instinct for people.”

“If that is the case, I do not understand why you would let me into your house.” Caleb was sunk all the way back in his chair, his hair hanging in front of his face.

“Because you are not a bad man, Caleb,” Molly paused, letting that sink in. He was sure of it, now even more so than before. “I get the sense that you have participated in some unsavory things, but from what you told me, that was the result of coercion and not your free will.”

“Oh, and you think that story was the truth, do you?” Caleb challenged.

“Not the whole truth, no, but a piece of it.” Molly shot back in kind. “For the record, darling, I do not expect someone who’s talked to me all of twice to spill their entire life’s story. I don’t begrudge you that.”

There was a beat of silence.

“I should not have snapped at you.” Caleb murmured.

“It’s all right.”

“You are a strange man, Mollymauk Tealeaf.”

“I get that a lot.” Molly stood, slowly, and began to clear the dishes. Without a word, Caleb cut in front of him at the sink and started to do the washing.

“None of that, now, you’re my guest. Guests don’t wash dishes.” Molly scolded.

“Let me do one thing for you in return, Molly,” Caleb said without turning around to face him, his tone brokering no argument.

Molly felt his heart soften. “If you insist, darling.”

A few minutes later, when Caleb had finished the washing up, he wandered back into the living room space.

“Shall we see about introducing you to Marian?” Molly asked, peering over the top of his book.

Caleb seemed to struggle with his words for a few moments. “I would like that,” he managed.

“Splendid. It’s a decently short walk from here, I just called a cab last night because I hate to walk around this neighborhood in the dark.” _And you almost passed out after a single flight of stairs, so there’s that._

“Very well. Lead on.”

The walk to the Ruby was largely uneventful, and Molly took the opportunity to consider Caleb’s predicament. It would be an odd thing, he figured, to feel like you don’t have allies on either side of the aisle. He was obviously happy to be estranged from the Christian fundamentalists he’d grown up with, but also clearly less than comfortable with the other end of the spectrum (embodied by Molly and the queer-ass cabaret that he worked at). Why was it, then, that he was sticking around? Why had he come to the Ruby, of all places, to talk to a strange man that he’d only ever met once? Maybe it was desperation, or curiosity, or the old rebellious break-mom-and-dad’s-rules-because-you’re-angry complex. Or maybe, just maybe, there was a truth deep inside him that he saw reflected here, and he was just starting to figure that out. _Now that is wishful thinking_ , Molly scolded himself. _Down, boy._ He still thought there was something going on there, but that theory would need a lot more evidence to back it up before he went anywhere with it.

“Here we are, you can see her in her full glory now that the sun’s up!” Molly declared. Caleb squinted up at the dilapidated facade of the Ruby of the Sea, trying and failing to look impressed. Molly chuckled. “Don’t worry, I know it’s ugly. We spend all our money on the inside.” At which point he unlocked the door and ushered Caleb in for the second time in twenty four hours.

 

…

 

 

Caleb was very used to being unsure about things, but this was a whole new level. The lobby that had been dark last night was fully lit now, decorated lavishly in the style of an old opera house, with dusty curtains and gilding and the whole nine yards. The walls were filled with big posters of very scantily-clad women, reminding Caleb of the sort of thing his roommate would hide beneath his mattress when they were fifteen or sixteen, but there was something different about them and the longer Caleb looked, the less sure he was that they were women at all. He banished that thought as soon as it occurred to him— _filthy_ — and Molly was leading him off somewhere, and talking.

“—saw the posters, they’re all of performers we’ve had here over the years. I don’t suppose you know what drag queens are? Never mind, I don’t want to know the answer to that question.” He laughed, a sound Caleb thought was akin to the tinkling of wind chimes in a slow breeze.

Molly led him up a flight of curving stairs, carpeted in deep red, and through a few sets of doors. Things started to look less like an old theater and more like … Caleb would guess this is what a Turkish rug salesman’s showroom would look like, not that he’d ever been in one. He was basing all of this off of what he’d read in books. There were paintings and prints covering most of the walls in all styles, mostly nudes. Caleb stopped looking at the walls. The floor was the rug salesman’s showroom part—there were dozens of them, layered over each other in some places, all with deep reds and blues and ochres and fine detailing. It was a little overwhelming.

“Caleb?” Came Molly’s voice. “Caleb, dear? Are you with me? The office is this way.”

Caleb shook himself slightly and nodded, affixing his gaze to the back of Molly’s head as they forged onwards. His long, dark purple hair bounced slightly as he stepped, and the jewelry on his horns jingled accordingly. It was calming.

“Wait out here for a second, if you would, dear.” Molly said as they reached a door at the end of the hallway. Caleb shifted back and ducked his head as Molly knocked on the door, and then entered. A minute passed, and then the door opened again and Molly beckoned Caleb inside.

The office was rather like the rest of the hallway he’d passed through, if a little more subdued. There was a lovely window in back that showed a view of the street. There was a bakery on the other side; hadn’t Molly mentioned there being a bakery? Something red shifted in the corner of his eye, and Caleb’s attention snapped back to what was directly in front of him. He sucked in a breath. Behind an antique wooden desk sat a red tiefling, her horns even bigger than Molly’s, wrapped in a white and gold robe that must have been silk. Not two months ago, he would have turned tail and ran at the sight, muttering prayers under his breath to ward off evil. Part of him still wanted to. He steeled himself, because that was not what he wanted to be, and sat in the chair Molly was offering him with a glint of concern dancing in his eye.

“Welcome to the Ruby of the Sea,” the red tiefling said, “I am Marian Levorre, owner and operator of this fine establishment. Pleasure to meet you.”

She held out her hand, and Caleb shook it. She had claws, but they were well-manicured.

“Molly here says that you are looking for a job, preferably bookkeeping?”

“Ja,” Caleb stuttered. “I… enjoy working with books, records, that stuff. I am very organized.”

“Hmm,” Marian intoned.

Her voice was rather like honey, or melted chocolate, with an accent Caleb couldn’t quite place in English. He wondered if she sang. He coughed a little. “If I may, what else did Molly tell you, about me?”

Marian looked at him, and he caught her eye for a millisecond before returning to stare into his lap. Her gaze was piercing, but not unkind. “He told me that you are a friend of his, who has fallen on rough times.”

A rush of gratitude washed over Caleb—Molly had called him a _friend_ — quickly followed by guilty panic. He should tell her, she should know—what he used to be. He tried to find the words, but they wouldn’t come.

“Rough times, yes,” he said in the end.

“Well, I would certainly be happy to get our records in order. I’m afraid we are not the most organized people.” Marian said, and Molly snorted. “I can pay you part-time, hourly wages, if you come in daily to work in the storage backstage. You'll have your work cut out for you, I think. How does that sound?”

“ _Sehr gut_ ,” Caleb replied without thinking twice. It really did.

“Excellent. Welcome to the Ruby. In that case, Molly, why don’t you show him around the place?”

“Gladly,” Molly chirped, sliding off of the side table he’d been perching on. “This way darling, time’s a-wastin’.”

“Thank you,” Caleb said to Marian as he got up.

“You’re welcome,”she replied, sliding a pair of reading glasses onto her nose and smiling. She was really very beautiful, Caleb realized belatedly, and incredibly kind. Was everyone here like that?

Molly closed the door behind them and skipped in front of him as they headed back downstairs, his tail swinging in a way that meant Frumpkin was happy when he did it. He showed Caleb the box office, where there was a secret stash of sour cream and onion chips under the desk, and the theater itself, which was grand and wonderful, before leading him down the right side aisle and through to backstage.

It was a careworn place, with dust kicking up everywhere and marks on the walls from old paint and who knows what. Caleb liked it immediately. Molly pointed to a large, dumpster-like bin on one side, and told Caleb, “that’s where we keep all the old set pieces and stuff. I don’t look forward to the day we have to go through all of it.”

They peered over the side, and Molly reached in, extracting a huge, garishly pink fan made of ostrich feathers. “We use these more often than you’d think,” he said, drawing it elegantly in front of him and winking over the top.

Caleb sneezed and cleared his throat. “If you say so.”

Molly put his head back in the bin and came back out with a giant cardboard cutout of a dolphin. “Oh god, I remember that week. All nautical-themed. What a nightmare. Fjord loved it, though, the fucker.”

“Fjord?” Caleb asked.

“Oh, I almost forgot you haven’t met the rest of the team. Remind me to introduce you when they come around.”

There’s more? Caleb thought with a little bit of panic. _Stupid_. Of course there were.

“The stock room is just on the other side of the dressing rooms, this way,” Molly said, returning the dolphin to its resting pace with a flourish. The dressing rooms were in a dim hallway just off of the backstage proper, and Caleb thought they seemed cozy. There were lipstick doodles on the mirrors, and sequins and beads everywhere. Caleb longed to reach out and see how they would feel under his fingers, but he shouldn’t.

Molly unlocked another door and past it, Caleb could smell the dust that collects on old paper. He saw filing cabinets, stacks of cardboard boxes, and even garbage bags pushed up next to the ceiling. There were stacks of loose paper visible here and there, and every shelf seemed to be on the verge of tottering over.

“ _Mein Gott_ ,” Caleb breathed, and then winced, because Ikithon had always cuffed him upside the head for saying that. He really did have his work cut out for him.

“I think you might want to start by just taking inventory.” Molly remarked. “Frankly, I don’t think Marian even knows what all is in here. You could start now if you wanted, no one else is gonna be here for a few hours.”

“I think I might do that.” Caleb said. After everything that had happened to him in the past day or so, sitting down and sorting boxes seemed like a wonderful escape to normalcy.

“I’ll let Marian know you’re on the clock.” Molly said. “I’m going to be next door in the studio if you need me.”

Caleb nodded in confirmation as he opened the closest drawer and began to rummage through manila folders.

He lost time there in the best possible way, feeling that contented hum that happened in his mind when all his ducks were in a row. He had just finished sorting tax returns properly by year when voices from the next room cut through his comfortable haze. He carefully shut the filing cabinet and peered around the doorframe, searching for the source of the commotion.

There were indeed people in the dressing room—his eyes landed immediately on Molly, who _was not wearing a shirt_.

Now, to be fair, he’d been wearing nothing but one of those thin bathrobes when Caleb first saw him that morning, but it had covered up most of the tattoos that were now fully on display. And all the muscles that were shifting under his purple skin, in his back and chest and on his stomach. There was a huge peacock that took up most of his back, and a snake winding around his right arm—on the left side, next to the feathers, there was a pyramid with an eye floating on top of it and that was all Caleb could see from the angle he was at. There was surely more on the other side.

He jolted back with delayed revulsion, disgusted at himself for staring at a man like that. His eyes darted around, cataloguing the other faces in the room. There was a tall, broad half-orc wearing a leather vest and cowboy boots; a muscular dark-skinned human in baggy pants and a crop top; a tiefling— _another_ tiefling?—blue, this time, in a frilly dress with lots of pockets; a pair of two half-elves that looked like twins, with their identical black braids; a gnome with the loudest purple shirt Caleb had ever seen, and finally, standing in the very back, a huge woman with a mane of black and white hair and mismatched eyes.

Molly spotted him first, because of course he did. “Caleb, darling! I promised I’d introduce you, didn’t I?”

He had.

Caleb took a deep, fortifying breath, and stepped into the light.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I wound up watching a bunch of youtube videos of burlesque for... research purposes, and listen even if it's not your thing you really really have to watch this (it's like, pg-13 at worst i promise) because oh god this is 100% Molly https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FBeVMrNXTfs  
> EDIT this is a tiny bit less PG but holy shit trust me here. One word: peacock.  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WfvE60jxUTU


	3. three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: self-hatred, internalized homophobia, casual nudity, one-time use of the f-slur. wheee.  
> Sorry about the late update, this would've been out a few days ago but my internet was in and out so here it is, finally!

“You must be Caleb!” Jester squeaked excitedly. Molly tried to catch her eye and give her _don’t go overboard_ look, but no such luck. Thankfully, she stopped short of a full-on hug and just grabbed Caleb’s hands, squeezing them gently. “Molly was telling us aaaall about you! I’m Jester by the way.”

Caleb seemed taken aback by this, and Molly resisted the urge to facepalm. He got up and circled around to stand next to Caleb.

“Just the bare bones,” he said, just low enough so that only Caleb would hear him. Then, addressing the group, “Everyone, this is Caleb, he’s going to be helping us with our bookkeeping and such. Caleb, this is Fjord, Yasha, Beau, Vex and Vax—don’t bother trying to keep the names straight, they’ll both respond to either—Scanlan, and you just met Jester.”

“Hello,” Caleb said awkwardly. Molly cursed himself. This was a lot all at once. He’d explained to Jester, Fjord, and Beau how he’d ended up helping out that guy that had maybe-sorta-kinda been part of a professional religious fanatical hate group, and while Jester bought it immediately, Beau and Fjord were still skeptical. He knew it was their nature, but he’d hoped they’d warm up to Caleb once they met him. As for Vex, Vax, and Scanlan—he wasn’t sure how much they knew, but it was likely Jester had told them everything, in which case he was going to have to keep an eye out for Vax and Scanlan being assholes. This was all going to be fine.

“He’s cute, Molly. Where did you find him?” Vax said with feigned disinterest.

Caleb went wide-eyed and absolutely red at that. “I’d say he found us,” Molly answered carefully.

At which point the door to the dressing room opened and in came the diminutive form of Nott, balancing a large plastic bag in her arms. “Lunch!” She announced, and there were cheers all around as everyone got up to get their takeout.

“That’s Nott,” Molly said to Caleb. “She’s our stage manager, God help her. Also, I forgot to ask what you wanted for lunch— hope you like lo mein.”

“I have never tried it.” Caleb replied.

Molly pretended to look shocked. “How could you have gone through life without eating cheap quasi-Chinese food?”

Caleb shrugged. “To be honest, I am not that hungry.” He said.

Molly remembered that sometimes when people don’t eat enough for a long time their appetites shrink. His smile turned forced as he felt anger rising up inside him. “That’s all right, dear, I’ll put it in the fridge in case you want it later.”

They fell into their normal, loud pattern over lunch, and Molly almost didn’t notice Caleb slipping away into the back. He debated going after him, but decided to let him recoup on his own time.

That night was the first show of the week, and things were getting progressively more harried as they went through last-minute preparations for it. Caleb still hadn’t emerged from the back, but when Molly had glanced in to check on him, he had seemed contentedly absorbed in his work. Molly wasn’t going to bother him until he had to. Unfortunately, not everyone was on the same page. Molly was lucky that he happened to be looking the right way at the right time to catch Fjord and Beau slipping into the storage room. He frowned, abandoning his eyeshadow, and followed them in.

“—we remember seeing you at Pride last year,” Fjord was saying.

“You weren’t exactly on the right side of the barricades,” Beau put in.

“It’s nothing personal, you understand, but what we do here is generally the kind of thing that makes people like you really angry.” Fjord finished. “We don’t want any of that around here.”

And that was quite enough of that. Molly sauntered in, acting casual, and plopped himself down on the edge of a table next to Caleb. “A secret meeting and you didn’t even bother to invite me, how rude,” he said, but the joke fell flat.

“Glad you could join us, Molly,” Fjord said heavily. “Mind telling us why the hell you brought someone from the Westboro fuckin’ Baptist Church into this place?”

“He’s not.” “I’m not.” Molly and Caleb said simultaneously.

Molly risked a glance at Caleb, whose face was hidden by his hair again, making him difficult to read.

“He’s not with them, not anymore.” Molly continued, pausing to give Caleb a chance to speak for himself. When he didn’t, Molly took a deep breath and went on. “He left them, and he came here to find work. I don’t see the problem.”

“The problem,” Beau drawled, “is that he’s about to see a bunch of mostly naked people dancing around onstage, and I really don’t think he can handle it. I don’t want to deal with _bullshit_ if this goes south.”

And despite all of her posturing, Molly could tell what she was afraid of. Beau had spent a long time being told to be something she was not, and she still found it hard to cope with negative comments about her appearance, or her sexuality.

Molly sighed and stood up, grabbing Fjord by the neck and bringing him in for a burning kiss. Fjord was as straight as they come, but this wouldn't exactly be breaking new ground for them--they were just usually onstage for this part.

“There,” he said, turning to Caleb upon breaking contact. “Did that make you uncomfortable?”

Even through the hair, Molly could tell that Caleb was blushing.

“I— _ja,_ it’s, well, I don’t know.” Caleb stammered.

Molly sat back down. “Elaborate.”

Caleb shrank even farther back, if that was possible. “It is… a sin, I know, according to all that I have been taught. There are many sins in this place. But I started reading the Bible, again, on my own, before I left, and I am sure that my old church was going about things the wrong way. Compassion, kindness—these are the teachings of Christ. Not hatred. And that is what you have shown me. So, yes, it makes me uncomfortable, but I think that someday perhaps it will not.”

Molly sat in stunned silence for a few seconds. A thought meandered across his mind— _I could kiss him right now_. But that was possibly the worst idea he’d ever had, and he banished it. Instead, he glanced accusingly at Fjord and Beau, who were looking equal parts surprised and mollified.  Well, Fjord looked mollified ( _Molly-fied_ , Molly thought, _hah_ ). Beau still looked on edge, but she always did. Molly would consider this a victory all around.

Fjord patted Beau on the shoulder. “I think we’re done here,” he said. Beau jerked her head noncommittally, but she still followed Fjord out of the room.

“Caleb, how are you doing, darling?” Molly asked softly.

“I am fine,” Caleb grunted after a second. “I should get back to work.”

“You’ve been working for nearly six hours, dear, I think a break is in order.”

“When is the show?” Caleb asked.

“It’s at nine,” Molly said, and paused. “You don’t have to see it. I could give you my key and you could go back to my place.”

“ _Nein,_ ” Caleb said, shaking his head. “I will stay. I would like to see it.”

“It is… a lot,” Molly said helplessly. His mind was forging all kind of outlandish scenarios. What if Caleb couldn’t handle it, and he disappeared after and never came back? What if he fell back in with the church and came back to protest? What if he really was secretly gay and the show gave him a massive identity crisis?

“I know that I am not welcome here, but I would at least like to see what it is that you all do.” Caleb explained with a melancholy note to his voice.

“What makes you think you aren’t welcome?” Molly demanded. Fucking Fjord and Beau—he was going to have a chat with them later about manners. “Granted, my friends can be abrasive sometimes, but it comes from a place of concern and self-preservation. It was just a misunderstanding.”

“If you say so.” Caleb remained unconvinced. “I do not blame them for not wanting a strange, bigoted foreigner nosing around.”

That infuriated Molly. “Darling, if you’re willing to call yourself a bigot like it’s a bad word, I highly doubt you are one. And, frankly, you’re not the strangest person to walk in these doors, hm? Marian immigrated here from Russia when Jester was about seven, and clawed her way up from the bottom in the twenty years since. Fjord is an ex-Navy SEAL who got a dishonorable discharge when they found out he was transgender. Beau was Special Forces until she quit because the other guys couldn't handle having a woman on the team who was also a raging lesbian. Vex and Vax are the bastard children of an asshole rich white guy and his Hispanic housekeeper. He forced them to go to five years of finishing school before they ran away. Yasha is an Iraqi refugee who was homeless until she joined the circus, which is where I met her. She hasn’t spoken to her family since they disowned her for being gay.”

Caleb was silent, and Molly began to wonder if he really should have spilled out all his friend’s stories like that without asking them first. His damn runaway tongue.

“And me,” he continued, swallowing hard. It was only fair. “Me, I’m just a lunatic who woke up in a ditch two years ago with no memories and started stripping for money.”

“Mollymauk,” Caleb croaked. “Are you serious?”

"Well, I mean, burlesque isn't really  _stripping--_ "

"No, the other part. Your past."

“I don’t remember a thing,” Molly said, trying and failing to put on a smile.

‘You must have been so scared.”

“Terrified.”

“Do you know, who you were before?”

“No.” Molly said, more sharply than he’d intended. “I don’t, and frankly, I don’t want to. He might’ve been an asshole, and what would I want to do with that? I’m my own person, and I want to do things for myself, not whoever I was before.”

Caleb seemed to consider this. “You are lucky you got to start over like that.”

This surprised Molly--usually people weren't so quick to accept that he just wanted to walk away from twenty years of life and start again. "I like to think of it that way," he agreed.

“Were that we were all so fortunate.” Caleb sighed, bitterly.

Molly frowned. Oh,  _that_ was why. “I’m not so sure about that,” he said, trying to keep his tone light. “Whether the other guy was an asshole or not, I still lost all the good in there along with the bad.” Everyone’s got some of both.”

“You seem so sure of that.”

“‘Course. Karma and all.”

“Karma? Mollymauk, how dare you speak such unchristian words.”

 _What?_ Molly stuttered, at a lost for words. Caleb had been doing so well…

Then he looked at Caleb and saw a hint of a smile pulling at his lips.

“Caleb… was that a joke?”

Caleb’s hair fell back in front of his face. “Sorry, too much.”

Molly guffawed. “No, not at all, dear. Oh my God.” Giggles kept escaping him, and he ended up lying back on the table they’d been sitting on, leaning on a few mouldering cardboard boxes, laughing harder than he had in a long time. After a few seconds, Caleb joined him too. They sat there, laughing like idiots. Caleb, who had frown lines on his forehead, looked happy for once.

As they started to quiet down, there were footsteps coming in from the dressing room.

“Molly?” came Nott’s exasperated voice. “We need you in rehearsal.”

“Coming!” He called back, before turning to Caleb and patting him unthinkingly on the knee. “Back off to the bastion of sin and condemnation.”

 

Molly bounced back off to from whence he had come, and Caleb was left with a happy buzzing in his ears and a smile. Molly had a way of making him all warm and fuzzy inside—he had done it the very first time they’d met, at the hospital. It had made Caleb think—how could someone who was obviously so in opposition to everything he believed at that time be so kind? Caleb had made friends within his church—of course he had, it practically defined his life—but they had always just been acquaintances, really. They would give each other rides and eat lunch together. He felt no real connection to them, and he certainly hadn’t ever laughed that hard with them. Back in school in Germany, he’d had Eodwulf and Astrid, but Ikithon had convinced him that they were a waste of time better spent studying. He regretted that, but back then, he'd actually believed that what the man said was the word of God. Now, though, he realized that he felt more affection towards this loud, tattooed purple tiefling than he ever had towards any of those people. A year ago, he wouldn’t have hesitated to call Molly a faggot and tell him the eighty Biblical reasons why he would burn in hell, but now he was not so sure. There was an arrogant certainty that came with Westboro's philosophy, and that arrogance had crumbled in Caleb’s chest the day Molly saved him. He knew he had to leave. Of course, the whole thing had gotten expedited when the elders found out about Caleb's mother.

A growl from his stomach shook Caleb from his thoughts. He huffed and stood up, surveying the work he had done. The entire filing cabinet was in decidedly better shape, and starting on the boxes next to it would probably require a lot more energy than he currently had, so he decided to go find the leftovers Molly had mentioned.

He crossed back into the dressing room, and realized that the fridge must be in that lounge that Molly had taken him to the previous night. He sucked in a deep breath. That would mean a lot more walking, and a lot more maybe-bumping-into-people, but he really was hungry, so he steeled himself and kept moving.

He managed to dodge Yasha and Beau darting out of the rehearsal room, but as he rounded a corner backstage, he was met with a sight that stopped him clear in his tracks.

There stood Fjord, wearing nothing but the tiniest piece of underwear Caleb had ever seen, and Molly, right next to him, naked as the day he was born and just in the process of bending over to put on a pair of sequined pink briefs. Fjord was chatting with Nott like this was as normal as could be, and Molly was really struggling with those briefs. Caleb just stood there, frozen. Molly’s butt was on full display, as were his lithe, muscular legs and —oh God, he was turning around.

Caleb’s eyes snapped to the ground in front of him and he ducked back behind the corner, breathing heavily. He could feel his blood rushing south and _no no no no_ this was wrong, it was filthy, he was going to get in trouble for this, they always found out—

“Caleb?” Molly’s voice echoed.

_Oh God oh God oh God—_

Caleb spotted the open door of a storage closet and dove inside, slamming it shut behind him. He heard footsteps approaching.

“Caleb, are you all right?” Molly said.

“I am fine,” Caleb managed to choke out.

There was shuffling and low murmuring from the other side of the door, and the next voice Caleb heard was softer, scratchier.

“Caleb, I need you to breathe." Nott said. "It’s okay. Mollymauk is going to go put on some clothes and we’re going to talk about this.”

“ _Nein—_ no, no. We do not have to talk about it. Please.” Caleb was no fool, he knew what  _talking about it_ meant. 

“He’s right, Nott,” came Fjord's voice. “Talking can wait.”

Nott hummed. “I guess it can. You can come out of there whenever you want, no one’s naked anymore, I promise. We can talk when you’re feeling better.”

So Caleb listened, and waited—waited until he heard their footsteps leaving and voices receding, and then snuck out. He slipped through the house and out the side door that Molly had used. It was dark outside, but his characteristically infallible memory recalled all the turns that led him back to Molly's apartnemnt. He didn’t have the key, of course, but he knew he needed to apologize to Molly before he left, so he sat outside the gate and waited. Yes, it was only right. Then he would stop burdening Molly and be on his way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> he hid in the closet, get it ;;;;;;)


	4. four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning for the use of the f-slur by a minor character

Caleb had disappeared and Molly was going to lose his goddamned mind. He’d looked everywhere, and not only did he manage to interrupt Scanlan as he was finishing his Brazilian wax, but he walked in on Vex making out intensely with their electrician—Percy?—which won him an especially soul-rending glare.

But even after he’d checked all of the damn storage closets in the theater, there was no sign of Caleb, and Nott was yelling at him to get dressed because the house opened in five minutes. He managed to apologize to her while shoving all his costume bits onto the appropriate appendages while she gave him a pep talk, bless her—“he’ll be fine, we just need you to do this show. Fifteen minutes, Mollymauk, that’s all I ask.”

It was the worst performance he’d given in a long time, and if he hadn’t noticed while he was dancing, he would’ve been able to tell by the dripping sympathy in Jester’s eyes as she patted him on the shoulder and said “you should go find your Caleb, Molly.”

 _It’s been all of twenty four hours and he's my Caleb now_ , _is he_ _?_

“Apologize to your mother for me,” he told her as he threw on street clothes. “She doesn’t pay me for that shit act.”

“No, she doesn’t,” said Vax, who, typically, was listening in while in the process of getting dressed himself. “Thanks for warming them up for me.”

“No problem, sweetheart.” Molly tossed back with equal sarcasm. “Give Gil a kiss for me.”

Vax just saluted and winked—which, coming from a nearly naked man wearing that many leather straps, would be incredibly disarming to most.

Molly just gave the man an affectionate hair ruffle. “Fucker, you know what—“ Vax sniped, but Molly was already gone. He was still wearing makeup and a few uncomfortable attaches on delicate parts of his anatomy, but that could all wait until he’d figured out whether Caleb was okay. If he wasn’t at the apartment—Molly didn’t know what he’d do. Try to forget about it, probably, and fail miserably. God, he hoped it wouldn’t come to that. Bastard was not slip through his fingers twice.

“Hey, pretty little thing, want a piece of this?”

Molly glanced over his shoulder and groaned. Two massive, really drunk frat-boy-looking types were making themselves known from across the street. It had been a while since he’d gotten shit for walking around in makeup in this part of town.

“Tempting, but no thanks,” he replied, walking a little faster.

“You’re not fooling anyone, faggot, we can tell you suck cock,” said fucker number one.

“And you like it, don't you, pretty boy?” Added fucker number two.

Molly cursed his luck and turned around. It would’ve taken way less time to just wash off his makeup and put on a hoodie than it took to deal with this whole circus. Then again, he mused, it doesn’t matter how short the proverbial skirt is, does it?

“Much as I’d love to spend the evening with you two gentlemen, I have a prior engagement.” he said, buying some time to summon his magic. “I _suggest_ ,” he continued, “that you both realize exactly how tired and drunk you are and just head straight on home.”

This seemed to give them pause, and for a second Molly thought it had worked, but then number one turned to number two and they shared a sleazy grin, and he knew the spell hadn’t taken hold.

They started advancing on him, and Molly was just trying to calculate how best to sprint for his life while fumbling for his apartment key in time to get inside when there was a rumbling sound and a giant earthen cat’s paw erupted from the ground, slamming into number two and pinning him to the cement. Number one seemed appropriately intimidated and proceeded to stumble backwards and attempt, unsuccessfully, to hold back vomit.

Molly glanced around for his apparent savior, but the only person he could see was—there, just inside the complex, he caught a glimpse of red hair disappearing around a corner. Quickly as he could manage, he let himself in and peered around the stairs. “Caleb?”

Slowly, the red hair peered out from behind the wall.

“Was that you? The giant cat’s paw? It was incredible.” Molly said honestly, still breathing a little hard.

“Ja,” Caleb replied, almost inaudibly. “Sorry I… ran off.”

“Don’t apologize, love, honestly. I’m just happy to see you.”

This seemed to surprise Caleb. “Listen, Mollymauk… I, ah,” he paused and swallowed. “I am not good with words. What I am trying to say is that you have been very kind to me and you have given me a lot, but I cannot keep taking from you when I am obviously still so… broken. This—“ he gestured vaguely at Molly, at the apartments, down the street towards the theater. “This is not something I deserve.”

“Don’t deserve—? Caleb! Look, I understand if you don’t want to work somewhere with naked men dancing around all the time, or if you don’t want to stay with me, that’s fine, alright? But don’t just walk out on me because you think you don’t deserve to be here. Why don’t we go inside and talk?” Molly tilted his head towards his apartment.

Caleb looked unsure.

Molly sighed quietly. “I insist,” he added.

Slowly, Caleb gave a nod, and followed Molly up the steps. As soon as they were inside, Molly started banging around in the kitchen, partly because he was hungry but partly just to have something to do with his hands. They always shook when he was nervous.

“Did it scare you seeing me naked by accident earlier?” Molly asked, bluntly. Sometimes it’s best to rip the bandaid off all in one go.

Caleb blinked owlishly. “I was not—scared, exactly.”

Molly gave him a second. He had his own theories about why the sight of a (very attractive, if he did say so himself) man in his birthday suit freaked Caleb out, but he sensed Caleb wasn’t quite ready to go there yet.

“I am not used to seeing naked people,” Caleb said finally. “It just, it surprised me, more than anything.”

That didn’t sound like the whole truth, but again, Molly wasn’t going to push it. “Yeah, there’s a lot of that going on. We have to make quick costume changes and everything, we’re all pretty blasé about it.”

“ _Ja…_ I will be fine. I just have to accustom myself to it, right?”

“Sure,” Molly replied easily. “And while we’re at it, get used to staying here. I mean, I don’t want to hold you hostage, but don’t leave on my account. Frankly, I could get used to having a roommate.”

“To be your roommate, I would have to pay my fair share.” Caleb grumbled.

“Well, once you have a regular income, we can talk about that.” Molly replied before he thought about it too hard. Would he really be willing to room with Caleb for long enough for that to happen? Yes, he realized, he would. He liked the guy. And the cat was a bonus.

Caleb seemed to be having similar thoughts, and Molly took the moment as an opportunity to finish heating up leftover fried rice with bacon and serve them both a plate.

“Ah, you’re good with pork, right?” Molly asked as he set the food down.

Caleb stiffened immediately. “I—it’s fine, yes, of course.“

Molly raised his hands in a placating gesture. “Hey, for all I know, you could be vegan. Or Jewish. Never hurts to ask.”

Caleb was silent, but in a tense sort of way that unsettled Molly. Damn his nervous chatter.

“Seriously, darling, I don’t want to cook something you can’t eat. It’s no trouble. Most of my friends have some kind of eating restriction, by necessity or by choice.” In for a penny, in for a pound, he supposed.

“I… ah, well, it is complicated.” Caleb admitted, finally.

“Do tell,” Molly replied over his shoulder, trying to keep things casual.

“Well… my parents that sent me away to school, they weren’t really my parents. My father was, I mean, he was my actual father, but he had remarried, after my mother… she died. And she—she was a Jew.” Caleb had retreated behind his hair, and Molly remembered in a rather timely manner that Caleb’s old friends hated Jews almost as much as they hated sodomites.

“Oh. OH.” He managed. “I get the feeling that didn’t go over so well.”

“ _Nein,_ ” Caleb muttered. “It did not.”

“…I’m sorry about the bacon.” Molly started to get back up, ready to make a second batch of rice. He had some chicken left over, he was pretty sure.

“Do not—don’t worry, please, t is not my belief system, only my… heritage.” As if to prove his point, Caleb took a forkful of rice and stuffed it in his mouth, chewing and swallowing quickly. “See? No problem.”

Molly couldn’t help quirking a smile. “Glad to hear it. You know, Nott goes to a temple down the street here. You two should talk—I mean, if you want.”

Caleb paused. “That would be nice, I think. If she would be okay with it. I would not want to intrude.”

“On the contrary, darling,” Molly said with a chuckle. “you’d make her day. She always complains that she doesn’t have anyone to go with.”

“Maybe sometime.” Caleb replied finally, ducking his head.

 

 

 

There were a few minutes of silence before Molly spoke again. Caleb all but licked his plate—it was really nice, he thought, to have a regular source of food again. He winced as soon as the thought crossed his mind because that was _exactly what he did not want to be doing, taking advantage of Molly for a hot meal and a soft bed to sleep in—_ but then Molly cleared his throat and said “so, please tell me this is a yes and you’re staying?”

Caleb balked a little but if he was honest with himself, he didn’t have any better options at this point. He’d just have to play his cards close to his chest and hope he could do well enough to start pulling his weight.

“I will, on one condition.” Caleb replied eventually.

“Oh?”

“Frumpkin and I will sleep on the couch. I will not kick you out of your bed.”

A wave of worry rose in Caleb’s chest, but he pushed it down—it would he hard to sleep, he knew, with no locked doors and the looming possibility that anyone could walk in, just like that, but it was Molly’s apartment, for crying out loud, not his. Besides, Caleb could go without sleep. He’d managed it before.

Molly gave him a discerning look. “Alright,” he said. “Deal.” They shook on it. Maybe Caleb was delirious, but Molly’s hand seemed ridiculously warm and smooth and he didn’t want to let go. He shuddered slightly.

They didn’t talk much for the rest of the evening, but it was a surprisingly comfortable quiet. Caleb did the dishes; Molly changed the sheets. They even performed the awkward but painfully normal roommates bumping into each other routine in the bathroom, which was when Caleb discovered that he hadn’t been delirious earlier—Molly really did just naturally run that hot. Caleb found himself leaning into Molly’s side for a beat too long, but neither of them said anything. Molly just kept brushing his teeth.

Caleb settled down for the night (the couch bed was very lumpy, and he was immediately glad that he was no longer forcing Molly to sleep on it) but as he had anticipated, sleep eluded him, and it wasn’t because the bed was uncomfortable. In the end, he gave up on lying down and curled into the armchair in the corner with some book off Molly’s shelf, Frumpkin purring loudly in his lap.

 

 

Molly found him like that in the morning, his head cocked at an uncouth angle, snoring softly, with the book tented over his chest. He frowned, plucked the book away, and pulled off the covers from the couch bed to tuck Caleb in. He’d been worried about this, but Caleb had set a boundary and Molly planned to respect it. The man had a sense of pride, and he couldn't fault him for that.

Soon after that, however, Frumpkin decided that it was time to wake up and check out what Molly was doing in the kitchen. Molly hadn’t considered the consequences of this until he heard Caleb’s breathing quicken across the room, and started to hear him muttering in German.

“ _nein—bitte lassen Sie mich allein—“_

Upon approaching, he realized that Caleb’s eyes were still closed, though he could see them moving rapidly beneath the lids. He was having a nightmare.

“ _Nein, halt!”_ Caleb cried, twisting slightly, his face contorted. “ _Ich will nicht—“_

“Caleb, Caleb, darling, wake up,” Molly tried, to no avail. He braced himself and grabbed Caleb’s shoulders firmly, shaking him a little. “It’s a dream, Caleb. Just a dream. Come on, wake up—holy shit!”

Caleb’s eyes flew open, and just like that, Molly smelled smoke. He glanced down and saw Caleb’s hand covered in flames, clutching at the arm of the chair. Reflexively, he pulled the arm away from the furniture, patting the small flame out before it really got started. He barely thought to loosen his grasp before Caleb’s form lost its tension, and his eyes cleared. His hand went out.

“ _Mein Gott,_ Molly.” Caleb muttered as he shrank into the chair, shaking. “I am sorry. I am so sorry. Did I hurt you? _Scheiße._ ”

“I’m fine, darling. Look at me.” Molly crouched in front of Caleb and waited patiently for him to look.

“Your chair— your hand, did I burn you? I did not mean--” There was sheer terror in Caleb’s voice. It was the voice, Molly realized, of someone who was expecting to be hit. He also realized that he was still holding Caleb’s outstretched forearm. Carefully, oh so slowly, he took Caleb’s hand and tucked it carefully between his, interlacing their fingers as he crouched down in front of him.

“I’m perfectly fine, and the chair is also fine, which is the least of my concerns. I’m sorry that I tried to wake you up with physical contact. Not my brightest moment, I should have known better.”

And then he waited, letting everything he said sink in. He held on to Caleb’s hand, rubbing his thumb gently back and forth across the back of it. Hopefully it was grounding, not scary, but Caleb was making no move to pull it back, so Molly would assume the former for the time being.

“You know,” he said, after a while, “When I was pretty fresh out of the hospital, I stayed with Yasha for a while. One night, she heard me screaming in my sleep, and she came to wake me up, but I was so out of it that I came up thrashing. My nails were even longer back then, and I drew some blood on her before I came back to myself. I was horrified, but she was so calm and she held me until I fell back asleep… it wasn’t my fault, Caleb. It’s not yours, either. We’ve got some skeletons in the closet, the two of us, and nightmares are part of the package. I don’t blame you for acting in self defense.”

Caleb sagged, and Molly realized that there were still massive bags under his eyes.

“You had trouble sleeping, didn’t you?” He mused.

Caleb shrugged.

“We’ll have to figure something out there.” Molly sighed, and stood up. “I’m making toast. You can go back to sleep if you want, I’ll keep quiet.”

“Ah, no, I’ll just—“ and Caleb unfurled his limbs, letting Molly pull him to his feet. He turned around and busied himself making tea—chamomile, after a night like that. He buttered the toast and put two plates down on the table, but Caleb was just making his bed, mechanically, and didn’t seem to notice. Frumpkin butted into Molly’s leg and demanded attention, so Molly let Caleb be and poured a saucer of water for the cat. He would have to remember to buy cat food.

Molly cleared his throat. “Breakfast,” he announced.

Caleb shuffled over to the table and picked up the toast. Molly would count that as a win, but they had a ways to go.


	5. five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> look at me, posting updates in a timely manner! Please don't get used to it.
> 
> warnings for very friendly seminudity. in the platonic sense.

Time began to crawl by. It started to feel like a sort of normal, having Caleb around. He and Molly would walk to work together every morning. Molly would set up his little tarot shop in the front of the theater and Caleb would disappear into the back room. They’d eat lunch with the rest of the crew, and then return to their respective spheres until the night’s show was over and it was time to go home. Molly cooked, Caleb did the dishes, and they both tried to sleep. Molly didn't miss the way the door to the storage room stayed firmly closed during showtime, but he tried not to worry. One step at a time.

About two weeks in, Molly was sitting in his tarot space, bored as all hell. It was a slow day. He was just getting up to fix the tasseled curtains behind for the millionth time when the bells on the door jingled and he swung around, excited.

“Hi, Tealeaf Tarot! How can I— oh, hey, Caleb.” The redhead was dawdling just inside the doorway, looking characteristically shy. “What’re you doing up here?” Molly asked.

“Ah, I may have uncovered a nest of rats. So. Frau Levorre sent me away while animal control deals with it.”

Molly shuddered. “That sounds gross.”

“ _Ja_.” Caleb agreed fervently. "Frumpkin can only do so much."

“Well, you can certainly hang out in here until they finish up. Not like I’ve had any clients today.”

“That is rough,” Caleb said. “But you have a big show tonight, ja? For that man’s birthday?”

“Oh yes, Shaun Gilmore, bless him. Can’t wait to get my hands on that man again.” Molly had had more than one… intimate encounter with Shaun and his partners, and it was always an experience he was very willing to repeat. He shook himself out of it, though, realizing that he might be making Caleb (who was blushing) uncomfortable. He cleared his throat awkwardly..

“Anyway... hey, you know, I seem to recall offering you a reading, when we first met. You want one?” Molly skipped back to his table, already sifting through his cards excitedly.

“I, ah, no offense, Mollymauk, but… ”

“I assume you think it's bullshit, right?” Molly said lightly, with a quirk of his eyebrow.

Caleb blanched and stuttered, but Molly just chuckled. “Well, yeah. It mostly is, to be honest. Usually I just try to tell people what they need to hear, do my best to help them. But sometimes, there’s something special to the cards, you know? It’s a good way to meditate on life. A conversation with fate, if you will.”

Caleb hummed and considered this. “I mean, if you have nothing better to do.”

“Better? Darling, I’ve been dying to read you.” Molly told him. It was sorta true—he felt like he was asking an old friend’s take on his new one. “All right, have a seat, have a seat. Let’s do a simple spread, yes? Past, present, future. Pick a card for each and put it face up on the table.”

Slowly, Caleb chose three cards from the fan in Molly’s hand and placed them in front of him, meticulously spaced and even.

“Hmm, interesting.” Molly said as he parsed the spread. He pointed to the first card Caleb had drawn, which showed a richly dressed man with long beard, seated on a golden throne. “The emperor, reversed. This indicates a dominating presence in some form… authority that is overbearing. That rings sort of true.”

Caleb gave a jerky nod.

“Now for present, this is what we call the hierophant, also reversed. I googled it once and apparently they were priests in ancient Greece, but for our purposes it shows that you are challenging a status quo that you once subscribed to. I like to think that there’s still a religious connotation here, especially considering your particular situation. And for future…” Molly couldn’t help but smile. “Things are looking up. This is the star, upright— hope, renewal, but also spirituality and benediction. If I’m not much mistaken, Caleb, it looks like the cards think you might just conquer your demons yet.”

Caleb was unreadable. “It is thought provoking,” he mused eventually. “Can I… ask a question?”

“Sure, of course,” Molly said, and then noticed the direction of Caleb’s gaze. “Oh, you mean to the cards? Sure, I don’t see why not.”

“I just wonder how,” he began, “how it thinks this will happen. This… absolution. What am I to do?” He reached out and pulled a fourth card.

And there, sitting innocently at the end of Caleb’s row, sat the Fool. Molly couldn’t stifle a sharp intake of breath.

“Oh…” he stammered. “Well, the Fool. He indicates spontaneity, risk-taking, new beginnings. A free spirit. I think the answer to your questions is that you should take a chance.” _On me,_ he thought, and quickly swallowed it back. ABBA references are iffy in the best of times.

“Thank you for showing me this,” Caleb said softly, tracing the edge of the Lovers cards.“These cards, they are beautiful.”

“Aren’t they!” Molly cried, immediately preening. “They were the first thing I bought with my own money, I got them at Gil's shop.”

He flipped the deck over and spread it out completely, showing off all the designs of the cards. His personal favorite in this deck was the Death, which was a gorgeous art deco-style portrait of a dark Aasimar woman with pale skin and glowing red eyes. It reminded him a little of Yasha, butmostly it just looked really cool.

Caleb, meanwhile, considered all of them before reaching out and picking up a card with a figure with long black hair. Their dress flowed down to the bottom of the card, and they were framed by great white angel wings. In one hand, they clutched a balance, and with the other, they covered their eyes.

“Who is this?” Caleb asked.

“Judgement.” Molly replied. “It means that you have come to terms with your past, learned from it. Found absolution, even.”

Caleb ran the pad of his finger over the figure’s hair and then placed it deftly back in with the rest of the deck.

“I really—I must be going.” Caleb said, standing rather abruptly and collecting himself. “I believe they will have cleared the rats out by now.”

“I imagine so,” Molly replied, his heart sinking a little.

“Thank you, though, truly,” Caleb said from the doorway.

“Come again, sometime.” Molly said, putting his smile back on.

“Well, if you are offering,” Caleb replied, and Molly swore he saw a hint of a smile. As the door swung shut, he hummed a happy tune and went back to fixing the curtains.

 

 

…

 

 

As usual, Molly had given Caleb a lot to think about. Tarot cards were witchcraft, and God had no part in them, or so he’d been taught. It was in Leviticus…. whose teachings, he would admit, had recently been proving faulty. Ikithon would call it the consultation of false spirits, but Caleb wasn’t so sure about the false part now. All he had done was offer up a prayer, and pick a card—from Molly, no less, who had proven to be nothing if not a force of compassion and good. He was still a little in awe at how true Molly’s word had rung, all because he’d chosen a few particular cards. It was marvelous that something so meaningful could be so beautiful, too. He went back to work cataloguing the shelves with the image of Judgement floating in his mind, perfectly preserved by photographic memory. It was fitting that his eye had caught on a card that shared a name with the event that had been held over him for nearly his entire life. It was something he needed to come to terms with, one way or another.

His head still in the clouds, Caleb worked for hours until he was snapped out of his reverie by a shrill shrieking sound coming from the dressing room. Alarmed, he put down the papers he’d been sorting and pushed out of the storage room, not taking the time to realize that it was close to showtime.

The scene that greeted him froze him in his tracks. Beau, Nott, and Vex were all clustered around Vex’s chair, in varying states of seminudity (Nott was completely dressed, Beau was completely topless). Vex looked supremely frustrated and was contorted in attempt to reach something on her back, where there seemed to be some straps out of place. Beau and Nott were arguing heatedly until they both noticed Caleb entering, at which point they stopped and wheeled around to look at him.

“ _Mein Gott,_ I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

“No, wait, come back,” Nott called, and then more quietly to the other two, “I think he can fix this.”

“Vax isn’t supposed to be—oh, Caleb!” Vex said. “I swear, you sound just like my brother.”

“I—uh—“

“Vex’s costume just broke,” Beau explained “Usually Jester’s around to use Mending but she’s off in her bakery or whatever so we have a problem.”

“And neither of us know how to sew.” Nott muttered with a pointed glare at her companion.

“Ah, I do have Mending.” Caleb replied. He’d been preparing every morning since he started working in the storage room, and it had proven useful more than once.

“Thank God!” Nott moaned, and beckoned him. “Look, here, these two straps are broken.”

Approaching the girls carefully, Caleb pulled out his lodestones and gently touched up the two halves of the sparkly, broken strap. It was nice and satiny, and left some glittering residue on his fingers. He took a deep breath and cast the cantrip, watching the threads weave themselves back together.

Vex let out a relieved sigh and rolled her shoulders. “Thank you, darling. Now if you don’t mind, there’s a similar problem here—”

Vex stood up and turned around, wearing nothing but stickers on her nipples and very small bra, accented by long, feathered tassels dangling down from it. Caleb swallowed uncomfortably and looked to where she was holding a section had gotten horribly tangled. He took it in his hand, cleared his throat awkwardly, and used the cantrip again. It didn’t totally fix the tangle, though it did repair the chains somewhat. Caleb was not the type to leave a job half done, so he fumbled with them until they came undone, hanging loosely across her stomach.

“You know, I’m impressed,” Beau drawled. “I heard the last time you saw someone with their clothes off you freaked out and ran away.”

Caleb balked. “I—um, maybe.”

“You seem to be doing pretty well with this.” Beau pressed further.

Caleb took a few steps back and ran his hands through his hair nervously. “I am sorry, I shouldn’t—“

“Darling, don’t be shy, you’re fine,” Vex said earnestly as she plopped back down in her chair, fixing her hair. “Seems you have clever hands, and that’s never not useful. Do you know how to braid hair?”

“I can braid hair perfectly well!” Nott grumbled.

“Yes, but you’re too short and it always comes out lopsided because you can’t see the top of my head. You, dear—“ and she pointed to Beau, who crossed her arms grumpily, “are useless, and my brother is off somewhere, probably with Gil.”

“I can braid hair,” Caleb replied belatedly. “If you would like me to.”

“Wonderful!” Vex gave him a winning smile and tossed her hair behind the chair invitingly. “I like it in a French braid, so it doesn’t come out so easily.”

Caleb nodded. “Ja, I can do that.” He combed his fingers through her hair perfunctorily and separated out a section behind her temples, splitting it into three. “Ah, Vex’ahlia, may I ask you a question?”

“Certainly, ask away.”

“Who is Gil?”

Vex looked surprised. “Well, he’s my brother’s boyfriend,” she explained. The air in the room was suddenly a little more tense, and Caleb could see Beau glaring daggers at the back of his neck in their reflection in Vex’s vanity.

“Your brother’s boyfriend?” He murmured. Now, he was no expert on these things, but had he misunderstood Molly earlier? Surely his friend would not have relations with someone who already had a partner.

“Well, and then there’s Kiki. They’ve got the whole, you know—“ Beau made a very strange and inscrutable face and tilted her head sideways.

Caleb’s brow furrowed and his hands faltered, his mind racing to process all of this. Vax was dating Gil—Gilmore—who was also with this Kiki, but Molly had been with Gilmore—?

“Kiki’s my older sister,” Beau explained, like that cleared anything up.

Nott, fortunately, took pity on him. “All three of them are in a relationship together, see,” she explained. “It’s not very common but they make it work. It’s all about communication.”

“And my brother is finally happy,” Vex added thoughtfully. “No easy feat.”

“I cannot say I understand this,” Caleb admitted. “How… they are all okay with this arrangement?” It sounded to him like a load of jealousy and false promises waiting to be realized.

“It works for them. Like I said, they talk a lot.” Nott said with a shrug.

This cast a new light on the Molly question. “Ah, I am not sure how to...” Caleb began haltingly, “but is Molly part of this… arrangement?”

Vex chuckled. “Not really. I think he’s spent a few nights with them, though, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“ _Ja_.” Caleb replied by way of covering up for his mind was short-circuiting. It was revolutionary, to think that someone could just _do_ that. Have multiple lovers. Be open about it. Be _happy._ Without keeping secrets.

“I think we broke him,” Beau deadpanned.

With that, Caleb finished the braid took the elastic Vex was handing him to tie it off. “Nice job,” she said, checking her reflection in the mirror. “I’m finding you the next time Vax abandons me.”

“ _Danke_ ,” Caleb replied.

“You know, you should come see the show tonight,” Nott piped up. “Take a night off, meet Gil and Percy and Kiki and everyone. You’d like them.”

“I—I am not sure,” Caleb stammered. “Perhaps.”

“Think about it?” Nott pleaded.

Caleb gave a small nod. “I will.”

“We’ll show you a good time, darling,” Vex said, giving him a wink. He felt himself flush a little.

“ _Ja,_ alright. I’ll just … get back to work, then.” And he slipped away.

“Show’s at nine!” Beau called after him.

Once he was out of earshot, Vex turned to the other two and rolled her eyes. “I want my money, that was the gayest motherfucker I have ever laid eyes on. He didn’t even stare at my tits once.”

Nott, grumbling, handed over the gold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next time, we'll meet the whole gang, probably. Should be a crowded, ridiculous, infinity war-style extravaganza. wooo


End file.
